


I'll Get Home Just Fine

by Shadowolf19



Series: Avengers: Endgame - Alternative Takes [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowolf19/pseuds/Shadowolf19
Summary: What should have happened in the last ten minutes of Endgame (sigh).





	I'll Get Home Just Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Contains HUGE Avengers: Endgame spoilers!  
> Do not read if you haven't watched the film and don't want to know what happens!

He knows it’s not a good idea. He’s not _stupid_ – or at least not to this _extent_. He has done some very stupid stuff in his life, mostly out of stubbornness, but as he stands in front of the shut office door, his hand already closed up in a fist to knock on the wooden surface, he has to admit that this is probably the _worst_ idea he’s ever had. He doesn’t have the excuse of being a “man out of time” anymore – Nat and Sam have been doing an excellent job with catching him up during the past… how many years now? Definitely more than ten, right? It’s _got to_ be more than that…  Geez, time really is a weird thing – so by this point he’s watched enough sci-fi films to know the basics of time travel. Oh, and also Bruce made sure to explain the _science_ behind it before they started on this crazy plan, although he doesn’t think he actually understood that part.

So if he’s not stupid, and he’s well aware of what he’s messing with, then why the fuck is about to knock on this goddamn door? _Because I can’t help myself,_ he realizes, the revelation bearing a sour taste in his mouth, _I’m just a man like any other at the end of the day. And given a chance for a do-over, I’m just too weak not to take it. I’ve got to know what would have happened. I_ need _to know whether I could have been happy if only…_

He stops now, because if he keeps going he’s absolutely certain he’s going to change his mind. He’s not stupid, remember? And this decision? This is just about feelings and pain and a heart that has been broken one time too often to ever be whole again. So he takes the deepest breath and knocks on that door, partly hoping she won’t be in her office this late at night, aware he’ll never have the courage to go through this whole procedure for a second time.

He holds his breath as seconds go by.

One, two, th—

“Come in…”

He freezes. She’s there after all. So now he _has to_ go in. Damn.

Another deep breath, the longest yet.

Then his hand lands on the hob, pulls it down before pushing it forward.

Once the door is completely open, his eyes automatically fall on the person sitting behind the desk, all too focused reading the papers scattered across its surface to greet him even with only a glance.

“Can I help you…?” she asks in a tone that reveals just how many times she’s asked this same question over and over again recently.

He doesn’t know what to do. The moment he’s thirsted over for so many times in the last twelve years – at first with tears in his eyes, then little by little with resentment, wonder and curiosity until eventually it became just like a mental exercise, something you do now and then when lying in bed waiting for sleep to come – is finally happening, and still he’s paralyzed in his position. She’s bound to notice his longer hair, combed in a different way, and probably something in his behavior as well. She’ll wonder _why_ , and ask _questions_ he can’t possibly answer, and—

“Steve? What are you doing here? I thought Mr. Stark had something to show you…”

 _Bang_. Just like that. Hit point black, right in the middle of his chest. Five stupid letters and his legs are already jittery, dread fills his lungs, and his eyes become restless to prevent tears from flooding out with no control. Still in the midst of all of this, he’s painfully aware that _has to_ say something.

“Yes, um, he… he had forgotten something in his lab— office, in his _office_ , so he went to pick it up,” he mumbles, fidgeting with his fingers before deciding it’s better to close the door. Better not to risk someone spotting Steve Rogers in two different locations only a few seconds away from one another.

“Okay…” she replies, definitely not sold, eyes still fixed on him as if expecting some sort of prank. “Are you alright, Steve? You seem… _different_.”

 _That’s because I_ am _,_ he wants to reply, but he’s already going against every rule they told him not to break, and didn’t someone say that when you mess with time, it tends to hit back? Right. ‘ _Someone’_. His mind is already re-playing the scene, just a few days ago. Was that the last words he said to Steve? He’s been trying so damn hard not to think about it, why now of all times… He squeezes his eyes for a second, to push the memory away. He doesn’t want it in his brain. It hurts too much. _Everything_ does.

“I’m okay. Uh, listen, I was thinking… Why waiting for when I get back to the mission for that dance? Why not now?”

He tries to sound as casual as possible, as if this was just an idea born on the spur of the moment rather than the product of twelve years of regret. Or eighty-two, depending on your point of view. But anyway. He smiles – better, _tries to_ , because he’s pretty sure that his mouth has seemed to have taken an unmovable, downward position since… well, you know when.

Peggy doesn’t seem too convinced, and really, who could blame her? He must sound bat shit insane right now, coming down here talking about dancing in the midst of World War II, just before he leaves for his important mission to stop Red Skull. This is so not him, this is more like… _Stop it, Steve. Do not go there, for godssake._

Fact: words are not his strongest suit when it comes to feelings. He’s way better with _doing something_. So that’s what he does. Still waiting for a reply, he moves across the room to reach the radio on top of the shelf, turns it on and quickly rolls the tuner until he finds a quiet, romantic song, easy lyrics on a carpet of saxophone notes. He sighs softly – had forgotten just how _relaxing_ music could be back in this era – then quickly covers the distance between them, stretches a hand forward and tilts his head to the side. “Come on, what do you have to lose?”

She narrows her eyes at him, _definitely_ aware that’s something is indeed different, but after a couple more seconds of hesitation she takes his hand and stands up.

“What is it that you’re not telling me?” she wonders as they start dancing slowly, a hand leaning on his shoulder, the other that reaches for his, slightly sweaty.

Peggy’s hand is small and delicate and feels so different now that he’s used to more decisive, strong ones, and again he has to force himself to _not think_ , to block every single thought in his head that doesn’t belong in this precise moment. _Go away_ , he almost begs in silent to a man that cannot longer hear him. So he just sways his head, sighs gently and almost whispering he replies: “Don’t worry, it’s _nothing_.”

 

Lying in bed, a couple of hours later, unable to sleep or to even close his eyes – just as fearing something must come to pull him back where he now belongs – he keeps wondering why he still feels numb. It’s not the hard bed, or that the single moment he had been waiting for his whole damn life has finally come, and it was _good_ , lived up his expectations and all. There was the dance and the kiss and the bedroom part, almost exactly how he had always pictured it – how _rare_ is that? – so it stands to reason that he should be satisfied now. Finally at _peace_. Because this is what he’s always wanted, right? A chance to go back and live his life with Peggy. A house in the suburbs with a white picketed fence and kids running barefoot and maybe even a dog. This _was_ it, right? Always had been, since he could remember. Then why can’t he just fall asleep?

 _It’s the bed,_ he deceives himself, because at this point one more lie doesn’t really matter. He throws a rapid glance at Peggy, deep asleep next to him. For her the future is still a big question mark, whilst he knows what is about to happen. Not just to him, but to the whole world outside. What is already happening over in Germany, in concentration camps and in Italy, Austria, Poland. What is he supposed to do? Ignore it so to not mess with time? Or take action, thus creating a new reality? In which case, what would happen to the one he knows and had learned to love, the one they went and interfered with? It becomes crystal clear now how he really didn’t think this through.

He sighs deeply, coming to a sitting position, his back against the cold wall. It’s always been his problem, acting on pure gut feeling and instinct, whole strategies based on his desire to do what is _right_. Except, this particular decision was irrational, not pondered, born out of pain and sorrow. He volunteered to bring the stones back to each of their realities because he didn’t know what else to do after the funeral. He didn’t even want to _think_ about it. He knew this had to be done, so of course that’s what he did. He said, “I’ll do it,” and off he went. Nobody tried to stop him, nobody even _realized_ he wasn’t in his right mind. After all, they were all in mourning, and knew Steve wasn’t someone who would just start acting out because of grief. That could be Bruce, or Clint, not Steve. So off he went, completed his mission without a problem, but then… then the temptation was simply too strong to resist. And now he’s here, wondering why he doesn’t feel _better_ , why his heart is still aching as hell.

Then the craziest idea hits him, all of a sudden, as a summer thunderstorm.

He could just… _stay_.

Sure, there would be details to work out – namely how to reappear _after_ the Steve from this reality goes into hibernation, what sort of justification to give – but he feels confident he can figure it out. He could take a month or so and then just show up again, maybe somewhere in northeast Canada. It could work, right? He could finally build a life with Peggy and then…

Suddenly a persistent _blip_ begins echoing in the bedroom, requiring his immediate attention. _Where is it coming from?_ , he wonders for a brief second before he realizes that it’s actually _him_. Or better, the time-traveling device still around his wrist. Why is it bleeping now? What does it mean? He has absolutely no idea but he needs it to shut up before Peggy wakes up, so he jumps on his feet and silently hurries outside the bedroom and into the bathroom, closing all the doors he encounters on his way just in case.

“What is your problem…” he moans, sitting on the toilet, as he twists and turns his wrist in every direction, pushing the buttons one by one at first and then trying combining two of them at a time.

When he’s about to run out of combinations, he finally hits jackpot. The device falls silent and for a fifth of a second it seems like that’s it. But just as he’s about to stand up again a low buzz anticipates something else is coming. A moment later, the bracelet projects a blue light in the air, and even before it assumes its final shape Steve can distinctively feel his heart breaking all over again, because he _knows_ what’s coming. Or better, _who_.

“Hey Cap, it’s me. You didn’t think I’d leave you without a personal message, did you? I hope you’re still alive to hear this. Earth can’t lose both of his best defenders at once, it just can’t happen. So yeah, try not to die after me, okay? Not for a while anyway. Our friends will need you, and to be honest, _you_ ’ll need them as well. To anchor you to reality and not let go. I know you’ll think it’s not worth it, that you can’t go through yet another heartbreak, especially after everything that has happened in these last twelve years. Do you ever take a second to realize just how long a time it’s been? Gotta say, we’ve been a couple of idiots, you and me. So many years wasted on anger and resentment, and what for? See, Thanos repeats over and over how ‘inevitable’ he is, but do you want to know who else is? You and me. How else can you explain how we keep finding each other, despite _everything_ , against all odds? Not gonna lie, I’ve thought about leaving a note to myself in 2012. Something simple, like ‘he’s the one’, corny as it sounds. I’m sure past me would be puzzled at first, but little by little it would start making sense. Maybe during one of our poker games in the Tower, way before I kissed you for the first time – god I still remember it as it was yesterday, that’s _insane_. Or maybe when we got shoved in for fourteen hours in that tent in the fiords – I had never seen such a copious amount of snow before.”

There’s a brief pause, the sound of static echoes in the bathroom, reminding him of the old radio his mother used to listen to back in the day. It’s a remote thought, one he’s not even aware of, his mind unable to do _anything_ except for listening. Then Tony’s hologram speaks again, his voice slightly croaked now.

“How could have we been so _stupid_ , Cap? I can’t leave myself a note, no matter how _desperately_ I’d like to. You can’t mess with time, not like that. And this idea is already crazy as it is without me adding to the mix. I wish we could have a do-over, but we can’t. Biggest regret of my entire life. We could have been invincible, you and me. Thanos wouldn’t have stood a chance even the first time around. I’m sorry things didn’t pan out this way, and I’m sorry I couldn’t let go of my anger sooner, I really am. For what is worth, I take full responsibility. And I know I have no right to ask, but I really need you to do me a favor.”

Heart beating too fast into his chest, he swallows the small amount of saliva still present in his mouth and instinctively leans closer to the projection, as if Tony was just there, in person.

“Don’t stay behind. When you go back to return the stones. I’m one-hundred percent sure it’s gonna be you doing it, because you’ll think it’s up to you to finish what we started, so I’m here to tell you, once you’re done it, don’t take any trips down memory lane. Not in 2013, not in 2015, and _especially_ not in the 1940s, Cap. I know you’re gonna convince yourself it’s your only chance at happiness, but _please_ , don’t do that to yourself. It’s not gonna be enough, the void inside your heart will stay there no matter what, and, you know?, maybe it’s for the best. After all, I’ve become a better person because of _you_ , there’s no denying it, and I don’t know if it’s the same for you – probably not – but I like to think that meeting me and the rest of the team gave you back some sense of purpose, and hope for the future. My father used to remind me all the time what a great person Captain America was – his stubbornness for doing the right thing no matter the consequences, his sense of self-sacrificing for the greater good – and although I might have slightly hated you at the time, once I actually met you I realized that he wasn’t exaggerating. You truly are an incredible person, Cap, and I would hate to grow up in a new version of the world that didn’t have you in it. So _please_ , Steve. I know I don’t deserve you, but if not for me or you, do it for all the kids you’ve inspired over the years. They need you, Cap. The whole world needs you, even if it doesn’t know it. Go back to our home, Steve, and learn to live without me. I’m sorry about everything, and I’ll keep loving you even now that I’m dead. I’ll be in a tear that sometimes will unexpectedly make its way down your cheek, and in the tiny smile that’ll pop up on your lips when remembering my listlessly teasing or one of my secret slaps on your ass when I thought nobody was looking. I might not knowing where I’m going – or if I’m going anywhere at all – but one thing is certain, you will always be on my mind. I love you, Steve Rogers. Thanks for the ride.”

And just like it had appeared, the projection vanishes in the air.

How many times can a heart break before it dies once and for all? He’s not sure, but maybe this is it for his, because it just aches too damn much. He tries to think but it’s pointless, someone must have switched his brain off because he can’t formulate one single thought. He takes his face into his hands – it’s wet and cold and almost feels like it’s not his own – in a futile attempt to regain some energy.

He can’t.

All his brain can think of is Tony, once again.

Tony, Tony, Tony.

Like a mantra.

Like a prayer.

 _I hate you_ , he thinks, although what he means is, _I love you, and I’m sorry too_.

It takes a while – ten minutes? Thirty? An hour? – but eventually he manages to stand up again and leave the bathroom, finding his way back to the bedroom, where Peggy is still soundly asleep. He quickly scribbles a note that reads: “Can’t wait for a second dance. I’ll see you when I get back”, then leans over to place a soft kiss on her forehead, settles the piece of paper on the bedside table and leaves.

It’s time to get back home.

 _Because I'm alright_  
_Janie, I don't mind_  
_I'll get home just fine_  
_On them long, long drives without you_

**Author's Note:**

> My (pathetic) attempt to try and stop getting panic attacks every time I think about the film.
> 
> The title comes from [this wonderful song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eooYAnIOWWM) by Brian Fallon.
> 
> I'm now taking commissions! So if you like my style and would like to request a fic, feel free to drop me a dm or buy me a ko-fi [here](https://ko-fi.com/shadowolf19), and I'll get to it asap :)
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://shadowolf19.tumblr.com) or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Shadowolf19) if you want to chat!


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